


ma mémoire sale

by lovesongs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-31 03:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesongs/pseuds/lovesongs
Summary: "wash my dirty memory in this river of mud and don't leave the smallest trace of all that binds me and tires me."





	1. of the night

**Author's Note:**

> i might add tags later. enjoy!

* * *

After being at each other's throats for some months in a row, Jaebum's parents finally granted him a right to pick out any college out of a list they'd composed in depth. His parents' lamentations and abstruse hints at a college they fancied the most were making him seeing red, and if it wasn't for his predilection to cut and run and set up on his own, he'd go off a deep end, all things considered, and probably hurt them even more than he'd already done, settling on something they never put down as prominent. But he didn't tend to be cruel and persistent when it came to his parents despite their irritating nature so he didn't do anything to spite them or flung back when they poured scorn on him, sticking on all his faults without a break, deriding his desire to dedicate his life to making films. He didn't try to placate them, he couldn't swear an oath that he'll change his mind.  
  
It was beyond him.  
  
In three months Jaebum was in Seoul, nineteen years old and filled to the brim with far-reaching hopes and insatiable hunger to wipe the slate clean and start his life one more time. He found a room in a shared apartment, embellished and capacious, enrolled at Seoul Institute of the Arts and indulged in learning cinematography. He called his parents not often, once a month or even less for all their conversations turned into a raucous row as a rule. He couldn't help but hung up on them each time they crossed the line. They possessed the ability to make him seethe with rage, using searing words, in nothing flat. Sometimes he couldn't grasp whether they were trying to taunt him or elicit a surge of anger so that he'd end up regretting his bolt for freedom.  
  
Jaebum bought a projecter to watch his videos he'd film during a day, something that'd draw his attention on the big screen as in a white wall in his room, he had necessary equipment to abridge and edit his material at home so nobody'd bother him while he was doing his thing. He couldn't focus when there were other people, hedging him in, attempting to engage him in their run-of-the-mill prattling. He preferred passing his time at home, it emanated a certain sense of a pleasant solitude, of welfare.  
  
He always carried around a notepad each time he went outside, putting in black and white lines that suddenly emerged in his head as the sun rose at the start of summer days slowly but surely. Pages were scribbled with dialogues, depictions, outlines created in haste. He also kept there a hoard of pictures of people he photographed in disparate locations: from boisterous bars to thronged airports. They all possessed attributes that distinguished them from others, be it facial features, hair color or their garments. He printed them and stashed in a folder, then when he was alone leafed through them, staring closely at each face so as to discern one and all hallmarks that he found alluring, imprint them into his brain.  
  
His actors consisted of his friends and classmates most of the time. He trusted them not to bungle anything, to take it all seriously and not to reduce it to a flat stunt, a low-budget stand-up to put him to shame. Usually, he shot short fictional films in desolate industrial areas, in remote villages located amidst vast fields and throughways unrolling to the sea as ribbons, in Incheon or in his apartment where he recorded his friends and their monologues, concerning any topic they'd touch upon, using his old dictaphone, listening to his tapes later, at night. Observing their gestures and mannerisms, how their usually calm faces creased at the same time as they laughed or shed tears or smoothed when they got a grip on their raging emotions and pulled on a dull grin to assure him that they were alright. Of course, they weren't, but Jaebum neither alluded to it nor he flaunted consolation so as not to fan the fire and stip them up. He never impinged on monologues and rarely made any remarks during dialogues, allowing his interlocutors to pull off a radiant guise and vent on him their rage, dread, dejection, anguish, he couldn't help but take in the whole lot of emotions that could alter at full speed, a second was enough for the atmosphere to change. They laughed at one moment and cried at another one on the double. It was impossible to detect a presice bit in which a modification transpired.  
  
He also captured people's hands, no matter how young or old they appeared to be, put a name and a date under them and heaped them in his notebook where he also recorded his dreams or nightmares, erratic ideas that'd arise during a class or a stroll, scraps of others' conversations he'd listen in while standing in long queues in convenience stores after a long day. He neatly threaded each piece as if it was a bead on a string in his memory to summon it all up later, to construct something totally up to date. Something that'd shatter the world and impress his frigid and faultfinding parents. They hardly ever raved about him or cast him a smile. It was hard to leave a mark on them, all they admired was their garden where they spent all their free time on uprooting weeds, planting tomatoe or cucumber seeds or gathering apricots and apples to dish up their famous home-made apricot and apple jam they'd usually sell in the marketplace.

.

Jaebum rarely missed any class, but on that particular morning a bus he was riding ploughed headlong into another bus for a driver'd lost control of a wheel, and most of the passengers were found harmed so ambulance brought them all to the nearest hospital where the wounded were able to get treatment and unwind a bit. There were bruises on Jaebum's knee, chin and forehead, also he had a broken nose, but in the main he was safe and sound in comparison to a guy who suffered a blackout as well as a fractured right arm and concussion. The guy had a rather familiar yet average face, there was nothing outstanding about him or his name, his grandmother who barged into a room later, crying her heart out, was as plain as a pikestaff and gaunt, wearing a battered dress. She sat beside her grandson's bed and caressed his pale cheek as if he was still a child and not an adult. She was so consumed with her anguish and distress that she didn't bother to cast a glance at him on her way out, she was still squalling. He wanted to make a remark that he wasn't dead, but he didn't say anything out loud. He was a stranger, moreover, a guy who'd gotten off easy. Who was he to derogate anyone's misery?  
  
They all could die in that accident after all.  
  
Then he wondered for a second.  
  
What would his parents' reaction be?  
  
He'd probably never find out.  
  
Maybe they'd stay at home, bundled together on the couch, and discuss all his wrongdoings.  
  
Maybe they'd mourn him.  
  
He couldn't find out to be certain.  
  
He peered at Jinyoung as his grandmother called him when she was there, listening to his heart beating at a slow pace. He was still in a come, not up to feel pain or dejection. Be that as it may, once he'd open his eyes, pain'd increase so much that he'd have to get a pill to abate it a bit.

  
But Jaebum didn't quite care about Jinyoung. Even though he did appear as someone he'd been acquainted with before, he couldn't recollect him at all. Jinyoung was definitely a bit older, a little appealing in spite of the fact that his mother didn't radiate any allure or elegance. Jaebum gaped at Jinyoung's fully clothed figure and then cackled, doing his best to muffle his laughter. What was he thinking about? He digged into his a bit torn and charred backpack for his camera or phone and found out that they both were snapped. Although he still could turn on his phone, despite its split screen, his camera with the help of which he usually captured fascinating landscapes and people was ruptured for all future time. He couldn't use it anymore. He breathed out and reflected on his day as a whole.  
  
He couldn't hold in a curse.  
  
Yet instead of throwing up his hands, he opted for taking a set of pictures on his phone, the set he'd title "a history of sadness" at a future time. Their hospital room, four beige walls, doctors and nurses racing from pillar to post in their neat uniforms, brought flowers wilting and losing their petals, patients throwing a fit or lodging in wing chairs and ordering young interns around. Each scene he captured seemed so amusing yet they all were filled with immense despondency. Patients, especially those who were supposed to go the way of all fresh in the near future, had a desperate, brittle smile on their tired faces. His roommate on the right had a clump of books on his bedside table, Jaebum captured that sight. He photographed the personnel who came now and then to check up on them, simple dinner that they served in the hospital, his camera.  
  
He used to call in on his grandmother when she was still alive. When he stepped into a hospital, being alone for the first time in his life, he felt nauseous. He wanted to get it all done and go home as soon as possible. He could sense suffering and death in each corner, and he was still too young to face the reality.  
  
His grandmother died four days later.  
  
He was about to turn thirteen years old.  
  
So he'd forgotten all about the atmosphere that was widespread in such establishments since then until that car accident transpired.  
  
He flicked through pictures that he'd taken, pulled out his a bit squashed notebook and a pen he found on his bedside table and set down everything he observed during a day. His roommates, Jinyoung and another guy, were either comatose or in a deep sleep. He couldn't figure out if they were still unconscious or not, and he didn't try to invade their personal space so he returned to studying his notebook.  
  
When they let him go home an hour later, he already missed all classes he had on that day and their entire group watching "Sans soleil" together as a fragment of their colloquium. He didn't take a bus home for an apparent reason, hence he reached a decision to stroll home afoot.

He had to cover a rather imposing distance, but he didn't care about it at all; at the same time as he'd started attending elementary school, his father didn't fetch him one day after classes, and he had to go home all alone. Once he was finally home, he spoke out against his father as in complained to his mother which made her hot under the collar. His father didn't have dinner and had to sleep on the couch at that night, and for a split second Jaebum, a child, felt guilty, but that guilt dissipated soon enough. His father never really cared for him or held him dear, and he wasn't even doing his utmost to mantle his nonchalance about him. That's why Jaebum never did what his father demanded, no matter how much it got his dander up and hurt his pride. He simply didn't desire to be his marionette.  
  
He ambled into his apartment at midnight, dead on his feet and about to drop on the floor. He pulled off his attire, showered, opened a window's ventlight and lied down, observing his ceiling, his thoughts leaping to Jinyoung even though he did all he could to stop recalling his face, musing on his mother.  
  
Did he regain consciousness yet?  
  
Where had he seen him before?  
  
Before hitting the sack after a grinding day he thought of Jinyoung's hands. They could be a part of his collection as a picture. He grinned and fell asleep.  
  
.  
  
Jinyoung roused at dawn, flung a glance at an empty bed beside him, then at his roommate who was still out cold and looked around. He was in the hospital and at sea, he couldn't put all his pieces together and restore his memory, reconstruct a chain of events that could lead to him having a ruptured arm and a partial amnesia. Of course, he didn't forget his name or identity, he was still him yet he wasn't able to recollect anything, concerning a reason. He unlocked his phone, quickly looked through yesterday's news and came across an article, related to the car accident in the center that occured in the day before's morning. He also noticed his name among the injured. There were lists of the harmed and the deceased so that their family members could come and collect their son or daughter's corpse.

Jinyoung breathed in and out and attempted to keep his head, but he was still in a panic, on edge, he felt his respiration and heartbeat speeding up. He could barely inhale at that point, he was rooted to the spot with his limbs growing numb and cold. He called a doctor on duty, using a special button, and the doctor was there in an instant, giving him curt guidelines on how to breathe properly and evenly so that he'd regain control of his lungs and simmer down a bit before he'd sack out again. Doctor didn't clear out until he was completely sure that Jinyoung was well.  
  
When Jinyoung was finally left alone, he hung loose and lied down a second time, reflecting on his life that could come to an end on that day. Nevertheless, he was still living and breathing as other human beings did on a daily basis. He wasn't dead, and he hadn't seen anything prodigious in particular while he'd still been in a coma. He was boring, he thought. He hadn't had a chance to catch sight of a lake on fire or a flock of clouds that'd disclose a secret of death. He chortled. Of course, he was doing nothing, but taking the piss out of his ill-fated self. Then he spotted something on the floor, under a middle bed. He cautiously rose to his feet, still lurching side to side, and squated to lift it up and have a good look at it. It was a folded page, ripped out of a notebook, with some pictures pinned or glued to it.  
  
He flattened the page and read four words jotted down in a fairly chaotic handwriting, "the history of sadness", then his stare flicked to a picture of a person crying with a note scrunched up in his fist, then to a blurred picture of a withered hydrangea and a picture of a couple shouting at each other. He felt ill at ease yet he was curious. Who would photograph people at such intimate moments and give it such an offbeat and melancholic title? It was quite odd yet engrossing at one and the same time. He couldn't cease peering at them, trying to descry one and all feature: faces crimped in a scream or a heartache, muted colors and a general sense of solitude and a shortage of love on the whole.  
  
Loveless.  
  
He closed the notebook. When he turned it over, he detected a name and a number.  
  
"Call me if you find this notebook, please."  
  
He grinned.  
  
.  
  
He was discharged a week later.  
  
He still had to pay a call on his doctor from time to time for a weekly check-up, but all in all he was in a good health and could return to his routine, to his work which lied in sitting in his office for eight hours in a row and writing one report after another for the most part and getting home late at night, drained and on edge all the time. He barely could find his feet and see if there was something safe to eat in his fridge when he was so dead beat that he could fall asleep on the floor in less than no time. In all honestly, after his discharge he ruminated on quitting it and finding something less tiring.  
  
He was lying on the couch in his living room, musing on things he was supposed to set aside, when his phonescreen flickered, meaning that it was a message from his grandmother. He deleted it in a second, not even taking the time to read it. He wasn't feeling guilt-ridden. He simply didn't want to fabricate white lies over and over again. He didn't wish for her to disrupt his life and fill it with her scent or voice or her outworn clothing. Then he pulled his phone out of a trouser pocket and searched for that guy's number among other contacts, all of a sudden recalling his name although it was run-of-the-mill and tedious.  
  
Jaebum.  
  
He swiped right to open a new message, typed a prim " **hi, i'm jinyoung. i have your notebook. where do you want meet so that i could return it to you?** " and locked his phone. A reply came in an instant, " _oh, thanks for taking it with you. i'd almost lost my mind while searching for it. we can meet in the subway. where do you live?_ "  
  
" **gangnam.** "  
  
" _well, let's meet there, at the station_ "  
  
" **where do you live then?** "  
  
" _nowon_ "  
  
Jinyoung chortled and hurled a candy into his mouth. Jaebum was probably wishing the earth would swallow him up after admitting the truth.  
  
" **hey, if you consider me a rich asshole, it's not true. my grandparents, my mother and her siblings'd been residing here for three decades until my grandfather died, my grandmother insisted on me inheriting it."**  
  
" _i didn't even have such thoughts_ "  
  
" **okay, let's pretend i did believe you. okay, then at six pm. tomorrow. gangnam. good night.** "  
  
" _good night_ "  
  
.  
  
He was standing in the middle of the station for a half hour, and Jinyoung didn't even care to sham discomfort or remorse. He was still pale and skin-and-bones, but in a spruce suit and well-groomed. Jaebum tried to stretch his lips into a gallant smile to stick in Jinyoung's mind, but failed. He slightly bent to greet him as Jinyoung was older and peered at his pallid hands. He was itching to take out his father's camera and capture them, but he was a bit timid to ask a stranger for such an odious thing.  
  
"I'm twenty four", Jinyoung suddenly said.  
  
"Well, I'm twenty three."  
  
"Oh, so you're younger? About to graduate?"  
  
"You can say so", Jaebum replied stiffly.  
  
Then Jinyoung stretched his arm out so that Jaebum could get hold of his notebook. Jaebum thanked him and put it into his backpack, still gaping at Jinyoung's hands. They were large yet gracile and delicate, Jaebum could make out each vein, as thin as a needle, creating a distinctive pattern.  
  
"Listen", Jinyoung who was observing him said. Jaebum could spot an amused glint in his eyes, "Let's go on a date? You choose a place. How about Friday or Saturday? Or Sunday?"  
  
Jaebum simpered and raised his arms to placate Jinyoung before he'd clutch at his face or throat although Jinyoung didn't strike him as a person who would get so worked up over such matter.  
  
"Sorry, I'm not into guys", he did all he could for a rejection not to sound distant or angry, however, as soon as he fell silent and glanced at Jinyoung, his ruffled hair and fancy suit, he noticed his deep walnut eyes gradually losing their cunning glint, "but we can still hang out and have a drink as friends."  
  
Jinyoung sniggered, but didn't say anything. They ambled further along the river, Jinyoung was still exuding nonchalance and languor, and all at once Jaebum felt guilty as if he was caught red-handed at the crime scene, and a throng of reporters with their cameras directed right at his face enclosed him, hence he didn't stand a chance to get out, to force his way through a herd. He was trapped, a sense of guilt gnawing at his throat, making it itch and burn. Jinyoung was still serious and lost in his thoughs, unable to see through him and sense that Jaebum didn't mean to hurt him or his pride by any means.  
  
"I don't care", Jinyoung spoke up in a calm tone, "Let's find a bar nearby and get stoned."  
  
They were so blasted that at last. Once they tumbled out of the bar on quaking legs and cut in a motel near at hand Jinyoung implored him to lean in a bit and hold him so that they could kiss and pull redundant clothing off their lean frames, sense each other's heat through their thin skin and nothing else, nothing that could persuade Jinyoung to take his eager hands off Jaebum, probing each inch of taut muscles with his cold clammy fingers, counting them on Jaebum's stomach by dint of his chapped lips, sliding his hand down, closer to his clothed crotch and then straightening up and brushing his lips against Jaebum's to compel him to demand more. On the other hand, Jaebum was blind drunk to call a halt to their folly that wasn't supposed to come about at all, it was inane, and they both weren't in their right minds, they both were soused, he thought through a cloak that was falling on his eyes, lips and ears at a snail's pace, urging him to do things he'd regret later, there's no denying it, once white noise'd be gone and they'd sober up. He quavered and let out a loud sigh when he felt his glacial fingers on his underwear, trying to grope for his cock and pulling back on the spot, caught off balance, and chortled when he detected Jinyoung's confusion: Jaebum wasn't hard. He was so strung out to do anything at that moment and on that day in general. All he longed for was to get home in a flash, flop on his bed, under his soft blanket, his ashtray topped up with cigarette stubs, listening to "Trio elegiaque No. 2 in D minor" and eating ice cubes, lost in his tangled thoughts.  
  
"I told you I wasn't into guys", he managed to mumble, "Yet you settled on trying anyways."  
  
"Sometimes huge risks lead to huge rewards."  
  
"I wasn't going to beat the shit out of you."  
  
"I presumed you would."  
  
"And you still went for it?  
  
"I can be quite persistent. You're worth trying."  
  
"It's nice to hear that", Jaebum said as he put his shirt on, "but, unfortunately, you're not my type."  
  
"Sure thing. What are you going to do?"  
  
"Spend the night here and go home in the morning, then I'm going to show up at college."  
  
"Why do you want to stay here?"  
  
"You paid for one night here so why wouldn't I agree to sleep in an upmarket hotel room?"  
  
"Bastard."  
  
"Stay here. I don't mind us sleeping in the same bed and all if you're worried about that."  
  
Jinyoung was adjusting his shirt and trousers, not caring to lend an ear to Jaebum who was rolling around in bed and contemplating buildings light up in a large scope of colors as the night's mantle completely submerged a half of their planet.  
  
"No", was Jinyoung's curt response.  
  
"Hold on for a while. You wasted so much money on renting this room. Let me pay you back, at least", Jaebum adjured as he sat up and peered at Jinyoung's muscular back. It seemed so prominent that for a split second Jaebum had a sudden urge to prod it. Jinyoung was still hiding his face as if he was repentant.  
  
"Are you crying?" Jaebum asked.  
  
"No, but can we go for a saunter around here instead? It's not that late. Do you fancy coffee?"  
  
"Of course", he replied, "Espresso?"  
  
"I order Latte or Cappuccino as a rule", Jinyoung stated, fastening his belt and running his fingers through his hair to tousle it, "Or another shot?"  
  
"I thought we decide to grab a cup of coffee?  
  
"We can always mingle it together."  
  
"We're still reeling. I don't desire to run into a classmate when I'm as pissed as a newt."  
  
"What are you studying?"  
  
"Well, cinematography. We also set up intellectual get-togethers to reflect on love, hatred, obsession and so on in the films once a month. Our professors never squander time on lecturing and so forth. They want us to form our personal vision and not one, rooted on their thoughts. Usually we watch films, then discuss it in groups and write essays. Our percetion, opinion and so on."  
  
Jinyoung's lips contorted into a dull smile, and he pulled out a cigarette yet after a futile attempt to grope around for a lighter he put it back in.  
  
"What do you need professors for then?" he queried.  
  
"No damn clue", Jaebum chuckled.  
  
"Let's go out to sober up and buy a lighter."  
  
They kept silent while Jinyoung was carefully selecting a lighter in a department store close at hand, even though, regarding their price, they were all of an equally not up to par quality. Jaebum was fiddling with his phone, his notebook secured under his armpit. He was bored rigid. He didn't feel spent anymore so he had a sudden desire to return to that bar and have one more dram. He wasn't fond of a totally coherent state he slipped in when he wasn't off his face. It was tiring, he was doing his best to put on a false front all the time and act all nicely and rationally around people, but sometimes it was a little too much, he couldn't assemble all his fragments he'd think out during a daytime into a whole picture when he was sober and sane. Naturally, some people regarded him as illogical and ludicrous, still he never attempted to make them change their minds. He didn't care, to be frank.  
  
While Jinyoung was paying for his lighter and busy chatting with a cashier, he upraised his phone and got a picture of him, a tight smile spread across his face and his hands were slightly shaking as though he was on pins and needles, he was on the lookout.  
  
A fatuous idea came to the fore.  
  
Once they were outside and were striding down the street to reach a station in time, it was supposed to open in about fifteen minutes, Jaebum was quietly observing Jinyoung, rendering his gait, his habit of flipping his bangs off his forehead many a time and setting straight his outfit, his trembling hands and fingers with neatly cut nails, a little timorous grin he'd fling at him. For a fleeting second Jaebum thought of a whole night and them getting rolling drunk, making out in the hotel room, buying the lighter and meeting at large, all those scenes he'd stored in his mind reminded him of old French films, although they weren't and weren't about to turn into les amants.  
  
"Why do you want to create films?", Jinyoung suddenly asked, puffing on his cigarette.  
  
"I just love everything related to cinematography. What about you? What do you do?"  
  
"I splurge my late father's money."  
  
"Okay, our audience had a good laugh, now, please, answer honestly", Jaebum mocked.  
  
"I was serious. I am. I waste them on pleasing my friends and strangers, on sleeping around in affluent hotel rooms, on buying cars and clothes and selling them without delay, on medication that's hard to obtain, considering our laws."  
  
"Medication? Are you ill?"  
  
"No, I buy them illegally by and large. I'm not ill."  
  
"They haven't caught you and your dealer yet?"  
  
"As you can see, no, I'm still free. What? You want to report on us? That wouldn't be nice. You're the first person I confided in, regarding that matter. If you do that, I'll lose trust in people for all time."  
  
"Jinyoung, listen."  
  
"Have you shot any films yet?"  
  
Jaebum cleared his throat to wind down.  
  
"I'm making my final project at present. Do you want to take part in it? You'd fit the plot."  
  
Jinyoung blinked thrice before falling about, clenching his abdomen so his laughter'd abate.  
  
"Did I say anything amusing?"  
  
"No, but do you really think so? What's it about?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet. Do you have a story to tell?"  
  
"Beyond that one I've already told you?"  
  
"Yes", Jaebum noted with a leer, "You're not up to be jailed, are you, Jinyoung?  
  
Jinyoung chortled and breathed smoke out so that it'd blow up in Jaebum's face. Jaebum nudged his side and attempted to snatch his cigarette out, but failed for Jinyoung veered and scoffed at him, making a grimace and sticking out his tongue as though they were children, playing in the snow.  
  
"Oh, shut it."  
  
"So do you? Are there any stories left, dunce?"  
  
"Well", Jinyoung meditated on it for a moment before tossing a sly glance at him and saying, "I'm not as cheap as you think, idiot."  
  
"Can you make an exception for me? I'm in the red."  
  
"Fine", Jinyoung grumbled as they entered a station and sat on a bench to wait for a train, "I have one, it's not as entertaining as you might've already assumed, but it's sad and all. A snatch of my miserable life."  
  
"Are you listening to classical music?"  
  
"No, why are you asking?"  
  
"I often listen to classical music when I'm alone.  
It helps me hang loose after a long draining day, I also use it as a background music a lot."  
  
"Alright", Jinyoung consented, "Fine, comrade. So we're going to yours? You're taking me home?"  
  
"No dirty thoughts, dumbass. It'll be a soliloquy. You'll tell your story, and I'll film. Try not to get all shy. Then we can take a trop and greet the sun and so forth."  
  
Jinyoung scorned, and his lips forged a smile.  
  
"I'm not a type to get shy, baby boy", he declared, making girls who were blathering alongside them turn their heads and giggle. He probably didn't give a whit, on the other hand, Jaebum did.  
  
"Hold your tongue. People are listening."  
  
"Will you let me hear others' stories?"  
  
"Yeah-yeah. Belt up, will you?"  
  
"Can't wait to attend Cannes Film Festival."  
  
"Cut the cackle, clot."  
  
.  
  
Jaebum's room wasn't spacious, but it could accommodate, at least, three people if each of them slept in sleeping bags. Furthermore, it contained a bed, a desk and a wardrobe which was more than enough for a single lad. It called to mind Jinyoung's apartment in Gangnam with floor-to-ceiling windows, white walls, metallic surfaces, a dining table and a desk incised of a solid up in years oak and a pinetree, subdued colors in each room, calling forth a sense of isolation as if it was a hi-tech prison and not someone's home. Those repellent ruminations and memories came up all of a sudden in such a way that they subsided Jinyoung's mood. He flopped on Jaebum's bed without his permission and started counting posters on his turquoise walls. Altogether there were around thirty of posters, for the most part they pertained to cinematography, Jinyoung could make out Audrey Hepburn, Alain Delon, Tim Roth and Uma Thurman, James Dean, but that's it. He'd never seen or heard of the rest before the moment he caught sight of them all.   
  
"Jinyoung, sit in this armchair", Jaebum said.  
  
"How many films have you watched thus far?"  
  
"I'm not quite sure. Roughly eighty or more. But I really enjoyed only a half of it or so."  
  
Jinyoung peered at a stunning woman with her splendid hair, all tangled and uncombed, her piercingly pitch-black eyes luring him in.  
  
"Who is it? That woman on your ceiling?"  
  
Jaebum looked up at the woman Jinyoung was talking about and simpered.  
  
It made Jinyoung scowl.  
  
"What? Are you about to rag on me?"  
  
"No. It's Isabelle Adjani", Jaebum stated, "She'd starred in Andrzej Żuławski's "Possession" long before we were even born. She's staggering."  
  
"So she's your type?", Jinyoung sneered at him, "Detached, imposing and dead. If it were her and not me back in the hotel room, you wouldn't dare to refuse her, would you? You'd do her in that bed."  
  
"Are you mad at me for rejecting you?" 

Jinyoung dismissed his question and didn't add anything else that could denote only one possible fact: he was still fuming, but he was doing all he could to keep a tight rein on his rage. Jaebum lied down at his elbow and stared at him, his closed eyes and short eyelashes, his lips tightened in a paper-thin line, his hands laid together on his stomach, his rigid frame ejecting rigor.  
  
"I thought I'd made it clear?"  
  
"Can you stop being a pestilent child?"  
  
"And you? Can you do it as well and answer me?"  
  
"I'm not mad at you. It was sarcasm. I fancy pissing myself off, you see. I'm pathetic."  
  
Jaebum sighed out, "We all are."  
  
Jinyoung rose to his feet and flumped in the chair. He was trying to stretch his smile, but he couldn't, and in the end he slanted against its velvet back and inquired if he could smoke.  
  
"I'm ready to tell you my story."  
  
"Well, not today", Jaebum said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You're not ready yet."  
  
"I told you I was ready, and here you are, telling me that I'm not. You surmise you know me better?"  
  
"You should pull yourself together first. I can't film you when you're in such a state. Chill out and take it easy, alright?"  
  
"I'm totally calm", Jinyoung hissed.  
  
Jaebum didn't react, "Let's meet later."  
  
"I don't want to see you ever again."  
  
"Which day do you prefer?"  
  
Jinyoung swung his head, not paying attention to the cigarette in his hand burning his fingertips.  
  
"Fuck you. Friday. After midnight. At my place", he jotted something down in a hurry, "Address."  
  
"Fine. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome", Jinyoung snapped.  
  
He was gone in a flash.


	2. poco allegretto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, guys, sorry for a short chapter this time. it's supposed to be a bridge. enjoy!

Jaebum was editing and cutting all splinters he'd filmed thus far, replacing some with those he regarded as sui generis or adequate and curtailing those parts that turned out as dry as dust or parts that didn't much a subject they picked out of three topics as a whole. Love, betrayal and obsession. Once they flopped in his armchair, he'd rearrange his equipment and so forth, shifting it back and forth, so that it'd create a perfect illumination of a person's face and his camera could embody each feature, each motion, how they laughed or bit their nails, how they pulled skin off their lips, strained, in a thorough search for right words or ruffled their hair or stuttered, trying to catch their breath and unwind. Now and then they shed tears or threw a fit or cursed while filling him in on their volatile relationships or on their outrageous childhood. Their stories were all disparate and absorbing. He relished their turbulent emotions, their passion or, on the contrary, distress and how they threw hands up when they were in a temper or split their sides, confiding to him that they'd pulled their old friend's leg: they'd simulated a break-in at night and made their friend's blood run cold so much that he pulled out a gun.

Jaebum didn't sit behind his camera, frigid, either. He cackled so hard when they told him shaming yet amusing stories and did all he could to console his "actors" if they were crying their hearts out or foaming at the mouth. After shootings they sat at the table and prattled about mundane things, sipping at coffee or wine and chilling out.  
  
The camera which was splintered in that car accident wasn't the only camera he possessed. He'd used that camera when taking pictures of people and their hands, to be specific, deserted urban areas, buildings under construction, rice fields and mountaints if a chance to flee from Seoul for a couple of days or so would appear. He'd usually rent a car and disappear until showing up at college or at work in a while.  
  
Now that he'd lost that camera and all the pictures in it, he was a bit at a loss. He didn't have much money to burn them up on a camera and a tape, he still had to pay his bills and purchase a tripod so that his second camera could record at a better angle. And his salary wasn't as high as one'd surmise, considering his position. He was a waiter. Of course, on weekends he frequently helped his landlord and his son catch fish at dawn and sell it at the marketplace before noon. Once in a while when his landlord was in a good mood he gifted Jaebum with a pound of squids or crabs, and he rustled up dinner and called for his friends, and they set up a boisterous party in the main. Still, he couldn't obtain another camera. His father had one, but they were at daggers. He couldn't ask him to send his old camera without saying sorry, and he wasn't ready to confer yet.  
  
He was thrown off balance, to put it simply.  
  
And Jinyoung hadn't phoned for a month.  
  
When he showed up at his appartment's threshold, it turned out to be double-locked. In addition, he couldn't get through to Jinyoung, no matter how many times he dialed his number. Jinyoung didn't pick up and didn't reply to Jaebum's messages as if taunting him. Jaebum was totally sure that he was at home on that day, he could hear someone slinking behind the door, a fissle of the water in the bathroom. He was neither deaf nor blind or a clod. He spat out on the landing and left, his cigarette stub smouldering under Jinyoung's front door.  
  
Jinyoung didn't care to call him a week later.  
  
Jaebum didn't want to plough on.  
  
Jaebum was doing his utmost to blank Jinyoung out, to erase him; he didn't have much time to diddle it on playing hide-and-seek; he was in a haste to complete editing his short film, including inserting in subtitles: simultaneous translation, interrogated people's names and ages, author notes that'd elucidate each part that might seem aberrant and raise questions. He was immersed in trying to attain another job to get his hands on a camera by late summer and keep the rest for the future use, for all that not being proficient enough at setting money aside, according to his mother. He thought of his parents in their house, presumably already asleep at such an hour. It was starless, the moon was sheltered behind leaden clouds yet he could already discern light streaks, slipping out at a sedate pace as tiger cubs on the lookout for their mother, anticipating an opulent dinner.  
  
Jinyoung was flat out without doubt. Even so, he opted for a succinct message and sent it in a moment, sneering at his gullible self for getting attached to a person forthwith, on a dime. He didn't find pleasure in being fettered to anyone in general, be it a friend or a partner. As a rule, it wore and teared his inner quietude and repose. It left him with cold feet and in pieces which interspersed throughout his flesh and bones, incising his internal organs on the inside. Jinyoung was still silent. Jaebum mused on his spare fingers and clean-cut clothing, his crinkles around his eyes, his disregard and, in contrast, his longing for affection. They both had been brought up in cold-shoulder households so Jaebum couldn't really blame him yet if Jinyoung wanted to carry on keeping him at arm's length to coerce him into a game which rules the older didn't go to trouble to let him read them at most. To tell you the truth, there weren't any. Jinyoung wasn't that calculating. Jaebum was quite confident.  
  
Perhaps he'd hurt him yet no matter how hard he was attempting to cudgel his brains to hunt out a reason, he couldn't. He was at sea. He dialed Jinyoung's number once again and sat in his armchair, lost and guilt-ridden. On the spur of the moment while hanging fire until Jinyoung'd, least, pick up and tell him what was going on, a sudden compulsion to see the older and make him shed light on his abrupt fading then and there entered the picture, and it scared him. It scared him so much that he hung up with all speed. It was obtuse and unsound. He lit up three cigarettes and put them all in his mouth, puffing on each of them, not caring about the consequences. When he was reasonable and as sober as a judge, he could dwell on his tangled and scrunched up thoughts and hammer up things that he usually unearthed something irrational. He set his sights on dropping those ruminations and shut them out for a meantime. He didn't hold much time and will to allot it to them as they were perilous and misleading.  
  
He fell asleep in the morning after hours of doing his best to set the seal on the project and finally put his feet up and didn't hit upon Jinyoung's response until he rolled out in the morning and unlocked his phone to check the time.  
  
Jinyoung's message contained a curt:  
  
" **when are you free?** "  
  
"showed up and didn't bother to beg my pardon."  
  
" **quit pouring scorn on me.** "  
  
"you consent to let me film you, we agree on meeting at your place on friday and you don't open the door and then don't pick up the phone. a day later. a week later. a month later."  
  
" **yes, it wasn't mature. do you still need me?** "  
  
"well, it's not late yet."  
  
" **can we meet? you choose a place.** "  
  
"my apartment. if you don't turn up this time, you can fuck off and delete my number :)"  
  
" **okay. you really are mad at me, aren't you?** "  
  
"well, not sure yet. maybe."  
  
" **alright. fine. see you later. at what time?** "  
  
"eight pm."  
  
Jaebum flung his phone on the bed and in a cold sweat tried to keep his shirt on, his heart palpitating under his skin at a gallop, he could feel it pulsating in his head and limbs, pumping his blood.

  
He'd been under a strain for a whole month, and in the long run as he let out a chortle he felt at ease and contented. However, he was still confused. He couldn't decode that feeling.  
  
.  
  
When Jinyoung showed up at his doorstep on time, his hair a bit bedraggled and his cheeks bright red, he stank of liquor and was clothed in the same suit he'd worn on each occasion before. It appeared to be a bit begrimed and ripped that time though. Jaebum plumped on not asking or hinting at it, he could bide his time until Jinyoung'd ley it bare. He put on his regular grin and let him in.  
  
Jinyoung refused to eat or drink. He struck Jaebum as a person who was pushed to his limits, who ceased sleeping, considering his angular frame. He was as thin as a rake and as pale as a ghost. He sagged on his couch and fished out a cigarette, but didn't light it up, summoning courage to make it all clear as Jaebum deduced.

  
He had purple bags under his burned sienna eyes, and his large hands were twitching. He didn't emit a sound a half hour later, still peering at Jaebum's wall and fussing with his unlit cigarette. He was swithering as to which course of action to choose, which would be unerring.  
  
"Maybe", he began, not casting a glance at him, "you should set up your equipment and all?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm here to tell a story."  
  
"Don't you want to unfold anything?"  
  
"My story might clear up your premise."  
  
"What premise, for fuck's sake?"  
  
"Just get ready to film, cur, will you?"  
  
"You really are an ass, Jinyoung."  
  
"The same goes to you, fathead."  
  
Jaebum leaped up and pulled out his camera, tripod, brought an ashtray in case Jinyoung'd decide to drag on his cigarette he was still fidgeting with as though it was a toy and sat behind the camera, keeping a weather eye on Jinyoung through a lens who was staring right at him, although not directly and perhars not at him, but he couldn't say anything for sure.  
  
The atmosphere in the room and Jinyoung's behavior were peculiar and incongruous.  
  
"Are you prepared?", Jinyoung questioned.  
  
"Yes as you can probably see since you can't take your eyes off me, lamebrain."  
  
"I'm admiring you."  
  
"Please, don't. It's filling me with fear."  
  
"You're on the up and up. That's disturbing."  
  
"So are you. Hey, can you stop boring holes in my face and spill the beans after all?"  
  
"Alright. Everything's put together?"  
  
Jinyoung set his clothes straight, sloped against the couch, and his lips shaped a simper.  
  
Jaebum couldn't help but gauge his appearance.  
  
"I'm more than flattered that you're ogling me, but you have classes tomorrow. Hurry up."  
  
"What about you? Don't you have work?"  
  
Jinyoung deliberated about it for a short time and joggled his head, saying "no", in the end. Jaebum was a little unsettled: during their first cogent conversation Jinyoung mentioned that he worked as an accountant at a well doing construction company and had a high wage. It made him lour.  
  
"What, did I say anything that you didn't like?"  
  
Jaebum said, "No, why?"  
  
"You seem quite fit to be tied. No, of course, you have the right to be mad at me, but I haven't come here not to go back home later. You see, I still have to feed my cat. He'll be dead in a second if I die here, at your place for being a moron."  
  
"Cat? You have a cat? And you've finally accepted the fact that you are a complete git. I'm proud of you."  
  
"You haven't seen him yet. And you won't."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Fuckers mustn't pet my cat."  
  
Jaebum snickered and suddenly sprang up.  
  
"What?", Jinyoung was alarmed, "Is this the end?"  
  
"No, I'm going to turn up the music. This time I've decided on "Symphony No. 3 in F Major, Op. 90: III. Poco allegretto". Brahms. You know him?"  
  
"We had a tipple last night together, yes."  
  
"Say no more", Jaebum cackled and flopped on his stool, "Let's get under way. We're wasting our time on something that's not worth a dime."  
  
Jinyoung pulled on another grin, brighter.  
  
"You don't have to smile all the time, cully."  
  
"That's a relief. I don't smile by and large."  
  
"Give it a rest and tell me, us your story, man."  
  
"Are you intrigued?"  
  
"I am."  
  
"Aright, let me get going then."


	3. burning bridges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, here's the last chapter. i hope you'll enjoy it despite the fact that it might spoil your mood.

* * *

Jinyoung had always delighted in staring at his mother's feet as she put on or off her pumps, then flung them on the floor and ambled towards her and their father's bedroom, on her way there pulling her blue scrunchy off her gorgeous flowing head of hair, if she was dead on her feet or upset; if she wasn't, she neatly put them together on a shoe rack, greeted her children and transmuted into their caring and gentle mother at the speed of light, laughing at their stories.

  
His mother's feet were small and lean so his father never brought her shoes when he left on business trips to countries which were located at such a great distance, so far off that Jinyoung could barely envisage them, their buildings and people, their languages that he regarded as baffling and intricate, a clangour of foreign sounds superimposed on the radiowaves.  
  
She put on her magenta slingback pumps when she was as happy as a sandboy and as a result prepared a sumptuous breakfast for them all and sapphire scarpins on those days she used to call "lacklustre": those were days when father was at home. His mother didn't love him at all. Once she brought forth Jinyoung, she entreated a midwife and nurses to snip out her uterus so that she wouldn't get pregnant again. She couldn't handle carrying her husband's child one more time yet she couldn't abandon him or else she'd be left all alone with three children on the breadline. She hadn't been educated, and hords of her admirers she'd obtained on the side during her marriage would have casted her aside as a strumpet who'd fallen for the bait. Teachers and parents at his elementary school had called her all the names they could hatch with the aid of their brains, as tiny as peas: a strumpet, a slut, a tramp, a fallen woman. They'd felt sorry for his father, not understanding how much he'd restrained his mother as though she'd been his maid and not his wife and whacked her until she'd pass out or implore him to stop. If he caught her flat-footed at the crime scene as in with her inamorato, he molested her and him at one and the same time. Jinyoung and his sisters could hear the whole lot from their room.  
  
After each spar she'd approach a mirror in the bathroom, apply red lipstick on her bloated lips, then put on her magenta pumps, a light dress and go for a saunter around their district, ignoring each cautious glance flung at her. She'd never slipped through the net. She'd been wallowing in their attention, embracing all the rumors they'd concocted, regarding her life. There was one time he, still a child, asked her about a reason behind their attitude and then gently wiped her scarlet lipstick off her bottom lip, using his little finger, "Why do you always rub this in your lips after fights with father?"  
  
Jinyoung'd never called him dad.  
  
"Because, sunshine", she murmured, "Well, once you're an adult, perhaps you'll understand it? I consider red my sheathing. Call it my armour."  
  
"You should apply it before then so that he wouldn't hurt you, mom", he noted, stumped.  
  
"That's not how it goes, darling."  
  
"Why? He shouldn't hit you! You can die."  
  
"You'll comprehend it all once you're grown up. And no, I won't die, your father might be ruthless, but he's not a murderer. I won't ever leave you."  
  
Still, she left them, despite her promise.  
  
It was his father. He beat her up to death.  
  
Their maternal grandmother had sheltered them all after his father had been sent to prison.  
  
Once at the end of showering, brushing his teeth and shaving his slight bristle off, he slipped into his terry-cloth robe and, standing right in front of a mirror and peering at his reflecton as if for the first time, applied his sister's red lipstick on his lips.  
  
It was his eighteenth birthday.  
  
Jinyoung didn't feet better.  
  
He unscrewed that lipstick and cut it off, after that on an impulse he clasped his sister's nail scissors, carefully clipped his lashes and set them on fire.  
  
His sisters assumed that he was off his chimp.  
  
His grandmother called him his mother's carbon copy, her smart yet insane replica.  
  
Soon, he left his grandmother's house in Busan and pulled up stakes. Seoul was a little more thronged than Busan, but at least he didn't sense his mother's presence or scent anymore, he could breathe out and wipe the slate clean at long last. He got a job as an accountant at his old friend's construction company and bought an apartment, finally making use of his father's money he'd left behind after his death. He and his sisters had divided it into three parts and separated for good and all. They resembled his mother, and Jiinyoung wanted to clear her imprint on his life, her influence, hence he had to unload each person she'd cared for.  
  
And he did.  
  
And they all did feel a lot better.

.  
  
Jaebum was so absorbed in his story that as the end was coming near he leaned in a bit closer, his enthralled eyes glued to Jinyoung's mouth.  
  
"Here you go, pinhead", Jinyoung sniggered.  
  
"And that's all?", Jaebum questioned.  
  
"Yes, did you hope for a more spellbinding story?"  
  
"Is it related to love, hatred or obsession?"  
  
"Well, my story contains them all. You can use this material. I don't mind. I make no bones about my childhood or adolescence."  
  
"Are you a thousand years old, git?"  
  
Jinyoung didn't respond, nonetheless, his snicker floundered and mutated into a sharp leer. He gestured for him to switch off his camera and found his feet, his palms aligning his trousers.  
  
"Can you do me a favor?", he queried.  
  
"What's it?"  
  
"Can I sleep over at your place tonight?"  
  
"Yes, but why?"  
  
"I've lost my keys, it seems. And there's another reason. I'm not certain if I should confide in you."  
  
"It's related to me, isn't it? So spill the tea."  
  
Jinyoung put his hand on his mouth and chortled, muffling his mellifluous laughter. Jaebum couldn't stop ogling his face, his rumpled hair and fatigued eyes. He resembled a pilgrim, asleep on his feet and chilled to the bone, whom a person'd let slip into his house during a tempestuous snowstorm, sit near a fireplace to heat him up, prepape a simple dinner to feed a stranger and see him off in the morning. It forced Jaebum to reminisce about his childhood and his mother reading bedtime stories which made his eyelids droop and lulled him to sleep. He felt warmth and longing spreading throughout his entire body.  
  
"Fuck me. I'll pay you. As much as you want."  
  
Jaebum was caught on the hop. He couldn't foretell such an offer beforehand. Apparently, it was uncanny, and he was racking his brains to map out a rejoinder that wouldn't sting anyone.  
  
"I'll understand if you don't assent to it", Jinyoung ran on, his fingers twiddling his hair as if he was afraid or, at least, with his stomach in knots.  
  
Jinyoung flumped in the armchair, his breathing obstructing and hastening in a moment, droplets of sweat welling up on his forehead and under his nose. He clenched his fists and muttered,  
  
"I'm not in my right mind. I'm sorry."  
  
He lifted his head and asked, on the alert, "Have you turned off your camera yet or not?"  
  
Jaebum tossed a brisk glance at the camera and noticed that it was still filming, in point of fact. He shut it off there and then and stared at Jinyoung's face. He appeared to be in a lather.  
  
"Will you use it to take the piss out of me?"  
  
"Why would you think so? Listen."  
  
"You will, won't you? Demean me in a split second, make me beg you to stop it all. And you'll constrain me to suck your cock until you'll take pity on such a pathetic cunt as me."  
  
"What are you rattling on, moron?"  
  
"You're all the same", Jinyoung hissed, hot tears spurting down his inflated face, "Shit."  
  
"Who? What's going on? Tell me."  
  
"When I was thirteen years old, my mother's lover popped in on us one summer day. My mother went out to buy rice noodles, tofu and a nappa cabbage to make kimchi and left us alone. My sisters were at school. I caught a cold so I didn't attend that day's lessons. He was sitting beside me on the bench in our courtyard, I could sense his alarming warmth, his slick hand on my bare thigh, his appalling breath within spitting distance, and If I'd had the guts, I'd have spat at his loathsome face and thrusted him off me. However, I was feeble and scared stiff, and he was sturdy and robust. So. I'm sure you can imagine what had ensued after that moment. That asshole had bragged about it to our neighbours, his boon companions, even my mother who didn't bother to harp on at him, at least. No, I was at fault, I put on those shorts and not trousers she'd told me to dress in. I felt humiliated. She was still grumbling and accusing me of being as licentious as her younger sister."  
  
Jaebum couldn't open his mouth or peer at Jinyoung and his shuddering figure. He was discomposed and outraged at once.  
  
"That's all. Jaebum. That was a story I didn't want to share with anyone, but you."  
  
Jaebum didn't reply. He was still perturbed.  
  
"I only trust you, Jaebum. Don't tell others."  
  
"And are you really fine? After all these years."  
  
"I'm more or less fine. My life's going on. That son of a bitch as he used to call me hasn't rotten yet though. But I don't really care. Not anymore."  
  
"Did he attend your mother's funeral?"  
  
"He did. Clothed in his best suit, his hair combed. He turned up at the church, offered to help my uncle, my mother's brother-in-law and my cousin transfer my mother's coffin, fill the pit with earth and even shed tears. That insufferable prick."  
  
"Was your father there?"  
  
"No. He was under arrest."  
  
"Where are your sisters right now?"  
  
"My oldest sister died in a car crash three years ago. I attended her funeral and all. As for my second sister, we rarely see each other."  
  
"M-my condolences", Jaebum stuttered out.  
  
"I'm well", Jinyoung grinned, his grin duplicating a hollowed out space, vacuum and still, "I am."  
  
"Listen, I really am sorry for compelling you to recall all those things. I could never imagine."  
  
Jinyoung shrugged and lit up another cigarette.  
  
"Sometimes I feel everything at the same time, sometimes I feel nothing at all. What's worse?"  
  
"Feeling nothing?"  
  
"No. Feeling everything."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I associate it with a swarm of people at the markerplace in the morning. Everyone and everything are on the move. People are gabbling about absurd bullshit. And I'm there, in the middle of the turmoil. And I can't get out."  
  
"You can. Why can't you push through that pile?"

  
Jinyoung closed his eyes, then gradually opened them and glared at him as if he'd offended him.  
  
"Alas", he sighed, "It's impossible at the moment, and it'll still be impossible in the near future."  
  
"Can you make it plain?" Jaebum roared, fuming.  
  
"He swears every now and then to begin a better life. But when night comes with its own counsel, its own compromises and prospects - when night comes with its own power of a body that needs and demands, he goes back, lost, to the same fatal pleasure", Jinyoung recited.

  
"Whose is it?"  
  
"Cavafy. Constantine. He was a Greek poet. I learned all his poems when I was a teenager. This one is my most favorite for I can relate to it."  
  
"What's your fatal pleasure then?"  
  
"You really are slow on the uptake, aren't you?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I let men fuck me for money", Jinyoung rejoined.  
  
Jaebum was left open-mouthed.  
  
"My sister's always comparing me to our mother. My atittude to such matters as pleasure or money, my flippancy and debauchery. She's calling me a profligate, a skank, a salacious leech all the time, denouncing me in holes and corners as an infected rat. We don't get along at all. When our mother's lover, that old bastard, did that to me, she stood on my mother's side even though she'd seen us, me in particular, yelling and struggling to get out."

  
Jaebum couldn't pronounce a word.  
  
"You might assume that all I'm saying is complete lies to slander my mother and her paramour yet that's not true. To be honest, I did cry at my mother's funeral. I still loved her and despised my father or any man on the whole who'd sabotaged her life and her. I still put red lipstick on when I feel frail."  
  
"Does it make you feel better now?"  
  
"It does, apparently", and he added, "It's already too late to go home. Don't worry, mate. I'll be gone before morning comes. I'll disappear."  
  
Then Jaebum pulled out a clean towel, a spare toothbrush, a bathrobe and handed them to Jinyoung. Once Jinyoung was out of the shower, emitting a pine scent, Jaebum approached his gaunt frame and settled his hands on his unclad shoulders. Jinyoung peered at him cautiously.  
  
"What are you doing?", he asked.  
  
"Granting your request?"  
  
Jinyoung chuckled and impelled Jaebum to put his hands off his form. He smiled at him.  
  
"I was fooling around, dunce", he uttered.  
  
"I actually d-don't mind."  
  
"You're stammering, see. There's no point in doing what you don't want to do. You won't find any pleasure in it in the end so don't, alright?"  
  
"Okay", Jaebum breathed out, "Are you hungry?"  
  
"Yeah, a bit. Do you have anything?"  
  
"I knocked up dinner while you were showering."  
  
"Oh", Jinyoung giggled, "You'll be a nice husband."  
  
Following dinner they washed the kitchen-ware they'd used, returned to Jaebum's room and flopped on the carpet, observing his ceiling as though it was so translucent that they could see the stars.  
  
After hitting the bottle Jinyoung started singing in his rasping voice, " _Wash my dirty memory in this river of mud, with the tip of your tongue cleanse me everywhere and don't leave the slightest trace of all that binds me, tires me._ "

.

In the morning Jinyoung was gone.

After that Jaebum tried to call and message him thrice or four times, but Jiyoung neither picked up nor responded. Then Jaebum settled on showing up at his apartment to startle him, instead he ran into his neighbour, an old woman, who told him that Jinyoung'd moved out without a reason, but she didn't know his address or anything at all.

Following months of disquietude and spleen he learned that Jinyoung'd met his death in a plane crash while they'd been on their way to Oslo.

Why Oslo?

Jaebum couldn't find out anymore.


End file.
